


Highway to the Fuck Zone

by speccygeekgrrl



Series: speccygeekgrrl's 2014 Kink Bingo fills [7]
Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Come Eating, Creampie, Multi, Orgy, Power Play, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Voyeurism, kink bingo, or is this exactly what you use science for, this is not what you use science for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The great thing about having no professional ethics is that the office makes a great environment for testing new drugs on your coworkers. Inadvertently! No one would EVER do this on purpose! That's ridiculous. (or: pretty much everyone has already fucked everyone, just now it's happening all at the same time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love (or Something) is in the Air

**Author's Note:**

> So I realize I skipped over a lot of porn, and I'm planning on coming back in later chapters and following all the pairs that went off behind closed doors in later chapters. So there's that to look forward to, if you like this? 
> 
> Set ambiguously mid-S4.

"Is it getting warm in here?" Cyril asks, tugging at his collar as he pauses in front of Cheryl's desk. She and Pam look up from her computer screen and she shrugs.

"It is, like, August. Probably something broke." She looks flushed. So does Pam, actually. Cyril definitely does not want to know what they are looking at. Well, now they're looking at him, and... he's seen that look in Pam's eyes before. It might be time to make a break for it.

Before he can take off, Malory emerges from her office, herding Archer and Lana out ahead of her. "And you _will_ be on that plane in three hours, and you _will not fuck this up._ " Lana's got a finger hooked at the throat of her dress. Malory's not wearing the jacket that goes with her dress. Archer's still got his tie on, but he looks distinctly uncomfortable. 

"I think there might be a problem with the A/C," Cyril starts, and then the whole quietly humming HVAC system goes absolutely silent. "Uh, there's definitely a problem."

"There is a problem," Krieger says as he emerges from his lab at a very brisk walk, looking kind of freaked out, or maybe just on drugs-- probably on drugs, very likely actually. "And it is related to the air system. It's just, um, a contaminant. That got into the vents. Somehow."

" _Somehow?_ " Malory is shrill. Krieger winces. "Well, what is it? Some horrible disease? Uber-MRSA? Swine pox?"

"Er, no, it's not a disease. It's a drug. A, um, an inhibition loosener and possibly an aphrodisiac."

"Possibly?" Pam chimes in. "How possibly?"

"Well, that's the stage I was testing when it contaminated the air supply. _Completely accidentally._ " No one believes him for a second. He uses his coworkers as unwilling guinea pigs with alarming regularity. Introducing it into the HVAC system is a new low. "So if everyone wouldn't mind being honest about how they're feeling for the next... uh, couple of hours? So I can take notes, you understand."

"You don't know how long this is going to last," Lana says flatly, completely unamused. Krieger blinks at her.

"I did say this is the testing phase, didn't I? These are the things I find out... during testing." He looks around at everyone, curious and vaguely clinical. "Everyone looks okay..." If by okay he means overheated and antsy. Everyone in the room is some degree of flushed, and those who can remove pieces of clothing have either already done so or are doing so at the moment. Archer's three buttons down on his shirt already.

"How long ago did it get into the vents?" Cyril asks. "Let me guess, about ten minutes ago?"

"Fifteen, but it would take five or so to circulate." Cyril takes a deep breath, immediately thinks _that was probably dumb_ , and loosens his necktie. This is probably going to suck, but _I was doped up on experimental aphrodisiacs_ is a better excuse for sleeping with your coworkers than _I was really, really drunk_ , at least. 

"What in tarnation is goin' _on_ out here?" Ray calls as he leaves the intelligence HQ and beelines toward the cluster of coworkers around Cheryl's desk. "What's wrong with the air? And why the hell are the nerds spontaneously makin' out in there?" He zeroes in on Krieger. " _What did you do?_ "

"Why do you think it was me?" Krieger asks, wide-eyed and offended, and Lana slaps him.

"It _was_ you, jackass! How do we fix it?"

"Well, uh, you can wait it out, but that could take a few hours... or a couple days... and after a while the arousal would be physically painful if not injurious to maintain. I don't advise it." Everyone stares at him, and he shrugs one shoulder. "Or you can have sex with someone. The oxytocin from an orgasm should clear the drug out of your system. Probably. Maybe two would be better."

"That's it. I'm leaving," Malory says, striding toward the elevator. Krieger coughs nervously, and she whips around. " _What?_ "

"Uh, the elevator is disabled as long as the HVAC system is. Specifically to protect the rest of New York from contamination from ISIS crises. You can't leave until the air is clear."

"Well, I can't stay," she says, looking at the faces of her underlings calculatingly. Then she sighs, rolls her eyes and grabs Cyril by the necktie as she walks back into her office. "Tell me the _instant_ we can leave, and don't anyone interrupt me until that moment!" Cyril looks terrified for a second, but the last anyone can see of him is an expression of resignation before the door closes behind them.

"Well, dukes," Ray says, looking around at who's left. Archer wanders off into Cyril's office and comes back with a bottle of scotch, chugging it like a water bottle. 

"Uh, you probably shouldn't mix--" Lana starts.

“Oh, no, this was extensively tested with alcohol. It would have been scientifically irresponsible to do anything but," Krieger says. Archer flashes him a thumbs up and keeps chugging.

Yeah, that's not an option. Ray turns to Krieger, feeling sullenly aroused and pretty darn annoyed. "This is your fault."

"Well, yeah," Krieger says, suppressing a laugh. "No one else here is capable of it."

"Are you proud of yourself? You asshole!"

"I'm not proud yet. Pride will come at the end of the testing phase, hopefully. But I will come before the end of the testing phase. Also hopefully." He leans in a little closer, smiling slightly. "So, there's something about your legs I haven't mentioned to you yet."

"I don't owe you anything. Back off." It makes Ray very uncomfortable that he's half-stocked with the mad scientist this close to him, and it's pretty obvious that Krieger is more than half-stocked at the moment. He's either got more of the drug (or _all_ the drugs) in his system, or he's actually getting off on this little disaster.

"No, no, just listen. So all of my robotics/cybernetics projects sort of tie in together, you know? And certain parts of the design I used for rebuilding you came from Fisto Roboto." Ray shudders.

"Ugh. What's the upshot here?"

"Your cock can vibrate." 

" _Shut up._ "

"No, I'm serious." The slight smile has become a full on grin, and Krieger nudges Ray's shoulder with his own. "I'll show you how it works... if you promise to bend me over a lab table and put the knowledge to good use."

"Honey, you've got yourself a deal." As they walk off to the lab, Ray casts a glance over his shoulder to find Lana pinning Cheryl to the wall behind her desk with one of those yeti hands wrapped around her throat. Ugh again. At least now the only part of this sordid little affair he has to be aware of is what happens between himself and Krieger. Thank God for thick steel doors and soundproof walls.

The wall between Malory's office and Cheryl's desk is _not_ soundproof. Pam, draining the last of the scotch Archer stole, presses the heel of her hand to his crotch and smirks, but her smirk diminishes with Archer's erection at the sound of Malory crying out in the next room.

"Oh god. She's-- oh god, _ugh_." He at least has the grace to aim for the wastebasket when he retches, and Pam rolls her eyes.

"Your mom gets laid almost as much as you do, y'know? You've got to get over it," she says, and laughs to herself when he makes another strangled disgusted sound. 

"I can't-- she's right there-- and I'm still hard, oh god this is awful," he moans, and Pam shakes her head and pats him on the shoulder.

"Come on, we'll go to my office," Pam says, "that's where the ping-pong paddle is, anyways." Archer whimpers, and she rolls her eyes and starts hauling him away from his mother's office.

"Oh god, Cyril!" Malory screeches, and Archer goes green and walks faster, covering his ears with both hands.

Cheryl can't hear Malory over the ringing in her ears as Lana presses down perfectly on her windpipe, her hands curled around Lana's arm going slowly slack as she loses consciousness. Lana lowers her to the ground and checks her pulse, shaking her head at how easily Cheryl provoked her into giving her exactly what she wanted-- but the little bitch had _slapped_ her! And at least this time Lana knew it was a sex thing before it happened. Lana looks around at the now-empty office and sighs, sitting on the edge of Cheryl's desk and looking at what Cheryl and Pam had been ogling on her computer. Is that... ostrich porn? She stops looking and focuses on the door to Malory's office. The older woman is predictable: as soon as Malory is done, she'll kick Cyril out, and then Lana can snag him and get him to take care of this lake in her panties.

Sure enough, after a shriek fit to shatter glass, Cyril is ejected from Malory's office with his pants still unbuttoned and his glasses skewed on his nose. Lana fixes them for him, and he blinks at her, a little dazed. "C'mere, nerd," she says, almost affectionately, and leads him back to his own office. "You okay? Not too traumatized to get it up again?"

"Again? She didn't let me finish," Cyril sighs, but he looks a little happier when Lana gropes him to find proof for herself. "Have you just been waiting this whole time?"

"Well, I got Cheryl off. Not really my thing, but under the influence of this stuff? Sploosh."

"She's really selfish, isn't she? It's creepy to keep going once she blacks out..." Cyril trails off when Lana looks at him angrily. "Uh, never mind."

"Look, are you gonna fuck me or what? I still need it." Weirdly, the desire to hit him and the desire to kiss him are about neck-and-neck and it's really hot. Goddammit, Cheryl, now her instincts are all fucked up. 

“I’m pretty sure this is the first and last time you’ll beg me for it. Let me enjoy the moment.” Noooope, definitely the desire to hit him is pulling into the lead.

“Shut up and fuck me _now_ or I’m going to Archer.” 

“Did someone say my name? Would someone like to moan it?” They'd closed the door behind them, but a closed door is no match for Pam's voyeuristic tendencies, and Archer will never pass up an opportunity to fuck up Lana having sex with anyone who isn't him. They're passing a carton of milk between them-- ugh, Green Russians.

" _Go away._ " Cyril's got a white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk and if looks could kill Archer would be a smoking pile of bones in his doorway. Archer just smiles at him infuriatingly.

“No, you know what? Come here, asshole.” The smile turns into a shit-eating grin as Archer steps into the office. Pam leans in the doorway, getting comfortable in her ideal vantage point.

“Lana, _why_?” Cyril pouts at her, betrayal written all over his face, until she leans in and whispers in his ear. "What? ....really? You're kidding. He wouldn't..."

"He would if I told him to," Lana says with a sharp grin. Cyril looks back at Archer more evaluatingly, one eyebrow raised, and smirks.

"If you can get him to do that, he can stay," he says.

"It's so cute that you think you get a say in this," Lana coos, and Cyril twitches in annoyance and slumps in defeat in the same motion. Archer, for his part, takes another slug from the milk carton, hands it off to Pam, and prowls into the office, rumpled and sweat-stained and unspeakably attractive in that particularly assholish way he has. 

“Does _he_ have to stay?” Archer asks, and Lana gives him a sharp elbow in the ribs. “Ow! I’m just saying, I can take care of you myself, you know. You _know_.”

“I know you can shut the fuck up if you want to stay here. Shhh--” She cuts him off when he opens his mouth again. “Shh! Not a word, Archer. Shut the actual fuck up.”

“But Lana…”

“SHH! Or you can leave now.” Exaggeratedly, he pulls in his lips and bites down on them. “Good boy. Now, you’re gonna stand here and feel me up while Cyril fucks me.” He opens his mouth and she glares at him. He shuts up. “He _can_ be taught! Glory hallelujah.”

“Yeah, he can be taught, you just have to reward him at intervals,” Pam interjects, “Or discipline him. With that paddle. That works even better.”

“Can we please stop talking about Archer? Or talking at all? In general? Forever?” Cyril asks desperately. Lana pauses and takes a deep breath-- three pairs of eyes glued to her enormous rack as she does so-- and then smiles beatifically.

“Pam, if you’re gonna watch, at least close the door behind you,” she says. Pam squeals with joy and does exactly that, but stays leaning against the door, fully aware that that’s the best angle to watch someone get fucked on Cyril’s desk, having watched more times than anyone would ever want her to admit to. Lana rolls her shoulders and glances over her shoulder, and Archer helps her off with the gun holsters, very familiar with the best way to get them off. She looks forward and down, and Cyril undoes her belt for her. Yuuuup, she’s got them both wrapped around her finger right now. Exactly how she likes them. She reaches for the hem of her dress and finds two pairs of hands already there, and she laughs as she pulls it over her head and flings it off to the side.

“Oh my god, those are _hot_ ,” Pam says admiringly, and Lana cocks a hip to show the panties off a little better.

“They’re Fiacci,” she says with relish. “Thank you, Pam, they’re totally wasted on these knuckleheads.”

“You’re a radiant goddess,” Pam says, tips back the carton of Green Russians, and burps.

“They’re not wasted on me,” Cyril protests, and instead of telling him to shut up Lana just leans forward and shuts him up with her mouth, which is way more effective anyways. She unzips his pants and shoves them down his hips, dragging his briefs down too, pleased that the little interlude of arguing didn’t affect his erection at all. Right, aphrodisiac. The same reason that her very expensive panties are thoroughly soaked and should be removed immediately. She leans in two directions at once, resting her top half back against Archer’s chest and canting her hips forward against Cyril’s.

Thankfully, despite the fact that they can both be incredibly dense, neither man is actually stupid, and they set to removing her underthings, Archer immediately replacing her bra with his hands, Cyril sliding his fingers through her wet slit as he gets her panties to the point where gravity will take them the rest of the way. Lana’s been keyed up for what feels like forever, and though she usually appreciates Cyril’s insistence on foreplay, right now she just wants that gigantic dick in her, no playing around necessary. His eyes widen as she shoves him back against the desk and practically climbs on top of him, letting out a long, pleased sigh as he fills her up. Archer makes a disgruntled sound and crowds closer to her back, rolling her nipples between his fingers and burying his face in her hair so he doesn’t have to see what’s going on right in front of him.

“Sploosh,” Pam says distantly behind them, and it might make Lana laugh if she wasn’t completely preoccupied with writhing between the two men she occasionally fucks and who absolutely hate each other. It’s not a bad place to be-- they’re trying to outdo each other to keep her attention, and they both already know exactly what she likes, and somewhere around the time Archer bites her neck and Cyril’s nails dig into her hips the first orgasm hits her hard and fast, and for a second she goes boneless, just letting the both of them hold her up, knowing neither of them will let her fall. 

She reaches up and twines her hands in both their hair, pulling them both closer to her, but instead of kissing either of them she tips her head away and pushes them closer together. “Kiss him,” she demands, and predictably they both balk. “Do it for me,” she says, and just like she knew it would be, that’s enough to get Cyril past his hesitation, his cheek brushing hers as he leans past and clumsily catches Archer’s unwilling mouth. 

“Holy shitsnacks,” Pam yelps, and-- oh Christ, she’s probably going to put that in the newsletter. Well, it’s not Lana’s problem-- kind of-- whatever. It’s less of a problem for her than it will be for them. 

“Ugh,” Archer says, but less heatedly than Lana was expecting. Interesting. Cyril pulls back with a look of disgust and immediately kisses her to get the taste of Green Russians and Archer out of his mouth, and Archer bites her shoulder in retaliation, but honestly, getting them to do that got her most of the way to orgasm number two, and that bite and the snap of Cyril’s hips put her the rest of the way over. 

There’s a pleasant hum under her skin, and she thinks _maybe one more_ and drags Archer’s hand down from her breast to get his fingers on her clit, and at this at least he’s well-trained enough not to freak out that his fingertips are brushing against Cyril as he works her in tight circles-- and apparently that does it for Cyril because he shudders and comes with a quiet whine, hips jerking erratically, still fucking up into her until he starts to go soft. He always makes the dumbest faces when he comes, overwhelmed and broken-open with his glasses all fogged up, and she feels a swell of affection for the little twerp, petting his hair and kissing him before leaning back into Archer’s arms and sliding off him.

Archer looks hopeful when she turns around, but whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t for her to sweep his legs out from under him and put him on the floor. “Wow, Lana, aggressive much?”

“I told you to shut the fuck up, Archer. Unless you want to leave?” He shakes his head. “Didn’t think so. You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?” He nods eagerly-- usually he likes whatever comes after that question-- but looks doubtful as she pushes his shoulders against the floor and straddles him. “Good boy. You’re gonna lick me clean now.”

“Uh--” She glares at him, and he licks his lips and swallows and looks very, very nervous.

“You said you’d be good,” she reminds him, stroking a hand through his hair. “I know you can be good, Archer. You’ll do anything I tell you to, and I’m telling you to lick me.” He nods, slowly, and she beams at him and lowers herself onto his face, shivering all over at the first touch of his tongue to her messy pussy. The inarticulate sound of delight Pam makes is almost hilarious, if Lana wasn’t so preoccupied by the instant she knows Archer commits to it, when he goes from cautious little kitten licks to enthusiastically thrusting his tongue up inside her. She reaches back blindly, but this is far from the first time she’s jerked him off while he eats her out, and he pushes up eagerly into her hand as she extracts him from his boxer-briefs. This is her favorite way to have Archer, when the only sound he’s making is slurping and humming, when his stupid mouth is one hundred percent incapable of ruining her mood. She tosses her head back and catches sight of Cyril biting down on his fist, eyes huge, totally rapt by what’s happening in front of him. In one move she rendered every person in the room speechless. Not bad.

There’s history between her and Archer, almost too much of it, the kind of history that means they know most of each others’ weaknesses, like the fact that Archer gets off _hard_ on being degraded by her, or the fact that Lana likes a finger up her ass while he tongue-fucks her. It really doesn’t take very long at all for her to come one more time, thighs clamping around his head, one hand buried in his thick hair holding him right there, the other hand gripping him almost punishingly hard while she jerks him to a very messy finish all over his own belly.

“Oh my god,” Archer says as soon as she’s off his face. “That was filthy. Jesus, Lana.”

“You loved it. And still shut up. Shut up until you leave this office, actually.” Her legs are a little wobbly under her as she pulls her panties back on.

“Sweet fancy Christ on a bike,” Pam sighs, and everyone looks over in time to see her pulling her hand out of her panties. “What? That was the hottest thing I’ve seen in person this month.” She meets Lana’s eyes and smirks as she walks forward and shoves her fingers in Archer’s mouth. His eyes go wide, but he sucks them obediently. “Awww, he _is_ a good boy.”

“That was depraved,” Cyril says, but he doesn’t sound nearly as disapproving as he thinks he does. He rummages around in his desk for a moment, then turns narrowed eyes on Archer. “What did you do with my scotch?” Archer exaggeratedly pulls a zip across his lips and tosses away an imaginary key. Cyril takes a deep breath… and in the moment before he starts to yell, the HVAC kicks back on with a melodious whir. Everyone pauses and looks up at the air vent.

After a moment there’s a knock at the door. “The elevator’s working again,” Krieger calls, “but I do have a brief questionnaire I would really appreciate you filling out. Uh, all of you. Whoever’s in there. How many of you are in there?”

Lana pulls her dress over her head. Archer buttons his pants. Cyril, thoroughly rumpled and not even making an attempt to put himself in order, opens the door a crack and holds out one hand. “Just give me a bunch,” he says.

“Nice,” Krieger says admiringly, sticking a handful of papers through the door. “Uh, you all probably want to drink a couple glasses of water when you get home. Like at least 32 ounces. Water, not liquor.”

“Duly noted,” Cyril says, and Krieger nods. 

“So just stick those under the door of the lab when you’re done with them? Please do them. For science. Do it for science.”

“We just did it for science,” Pam pipes up, “BOOM!”


	2. In the Lair of the Harpy Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malory Archer never asks for what she wants if she's capable of simply taking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would not have been possible without the aid of kriegersan and her impeccable Malory voice! DOMO ARIGATO KRIEGER-SAN!

She didn't ask-- not that she ever asked, not that anyone ever expected her to ask. Malory Archer never asks for what she wants if she's capable of simply taking it. She helps herself to whatever she thinks she should have-- and if that happens to be Cyril's body, well, it's not like this is even the first time she's done it. And given the circumstances of the first time, Cyril thinks he prefers the airborne aphrodisiac to having to edit the ridiculously weak and self-indulgent mess she'd called a script. It's less work for him, at least. 

She hauls him into her office with his tie wrapped around her fist, and when the door slides shut behind them she pushes him back against it and fixes him with a steely blue stare. "He said two orgasms would be better," she says, "and Cyril, if the thought of coming before me even enters your precious, vapid little mind, I will literally use my standard supply office stapler to make your scrotum one with my desk.” 

"I’m not going to do anything to hinder my ability to get the hell out of this office," Cyril snipes back, and she slaps him across the cheek-- not really hard, just putting him in his place. Right. He might be a field agent now, but she's still the one holding all the cards, and whatever fragile amount of self-esteem he can scrape together from his infrequent successes in the field is still subject to being ground under her immaculate heels. He hates her almost as much as he hates Archer.

Archer. The look on Archer's face as Malory dragged Cyril off. That horrified expression when he processed exactly why Malory was commandeering Cyril. Maybe some good could come out of this after all. Cyril wouldn't even have to directly reference it, even an oblique reference would be enough to send Archer pale-faced and retching, given his frankly alarming overreaction to his mother's numerous affairs. This is like a get-out-of-dealing-with-Archer-free card. All he has to do is grit his teeth and make the old shrew come a couple of times. _You can do this, Figgis_ , he tells himself, _it'll be worth it in the end, just get it over with._

Malory releases his tie and straightens it pointlessly, then goes to pour herself a drink. He doesn't ask before pouring one for himself and kicking it back in three long swallows. Then he regrets rushing through it-- Malory always has really good alcohol, the kind that's worth savoring. Although nothing that happens in this office right now is going to be anything he wants to savor. She seems to not hold the same viewpoint, standing back from him and eyeing him up and down like a new fur coat.

“I seem to recall you using ‘sexual addiction’ as an excuse to cheat on Lana, so I’m _assuming_ you know your way around the hypothetical block. Undress. _Now_.” He glares at her, biting the inside of his cheek, and pulls his sweatervest over his head, draping it over the back of a chair. It's still too warm, and he doesn't even have words for how much he hates the fact that he's achingly hard despite not wanting to be here at all, even a little bit. The tie comes off next, and he undoes his collar damp with sweat and lets his head fall back because looking at the ceiling is preferable to looking at Malory staring at him like something she wants to devour. He reminds himself of the endgame as he unbuttons his shirt-- a keenly honed emotional weapon to stab into Archer whenever that dick becomes truly unbearable, which, let's be honest here, happens several times a day. Cyril will have to use it sparingly if he wants it to stay effective.

When he looks back down, Malory has unzipped her dress and is stepping out of it. She looks smaller without her heels on, a little less imposing in her push-up bra and lacy panties, but he's under no illusions that she's any less capable of taking him down. She seemed to like doing that last time. He really doesn't want to have to let her do it again.

"So how do you want to do this?" he asks as he slides off his belt. She looks at the desk, the wall behind the desk, her chair, a calculating look on her face, and then looks at him with a slight smirk.

"Over the desk," she says, and stares shamelessly as he kicks his pants down his legs. "Christ, I'd almost forgotten. You do have some redeeming qualities to offset how terrible you are at _almost everything._ "

When this is all over, he’s going to have to do something nice for himself. Like get blackout drunk. That sounds good. Oh, wait, but he can’t forget about this or he’ll have no ammunition against Archer. He’s just going to have to write himself a note. _Dear Cyril, sorry you actually fucked Malory again but this time Archer knows about it, please make him suffer. Love, Cyril._ Provided that liquor can, in fact, do anything about it. Malory beckons him closer and he makes a detour to refill his glass and drain it a bit more slowly than the first one.

"Come on, I don't have all day! _God_ , I hope I don't have all day. What are you doing, you incompetent ass, get over here!” She's tapping her foot impatiently. He kicks back the last swallow, sets the glass down, and steels himself as he walks around the desk and immediately gets groped by his almost-naked boss. "That's more like it. Well? Don't just stand there, touch me!"

Malory stops talking when he does touch her, hands traveling up from her hips to her still-bra-encased breasts. If he closes his eyes and just listens to her breathing, she could be anyone. Her skin is very soft, and she smells like bourbon and expensive perfume, and all he has to do is make her come a couple of times, no big deal, he's actually pretty good at making women come, given the sheer amount of practice he's had. He slips a hand down her panties and is a little surprised that she's wet until he remembers the fact that they've all been dosed with aphrodisiac. She huffs through her nose as his fingers explore her, does it again when he finds her clit with one fingertip. 

"So timid, Cyril!" she taunts, and he rolls his eyes and pushes two fingers into her quickly, all at once, and she cries out loud, hips jerking. "Better," she says, and Cyril weighs his options as he curls his fingers and makes the snap decision to go about this the most efficient way he knows, going to his knees in front of her and closing his eyes again, sure that he doesn't need to see to know what he's doing down here. He tugs away her panties and leans in, keeps his fingers working as he licks at her, just with the tip of his tongue at first, broader licks once he's gotten the lay of the land. She knots a hand in his hair and pulls him closer, her hips shifting restlessly, and he tries not to think about how weird it is that she's so saturated in alcohol that even her cunt kind of tastes like bourbon.

Thankfully, either because of the drugs or because of his skill (or, more likely, a little from column A and a little from column B), it only takes a couple of minutes of focused effort and a third finger before Malory yelps, "Oh _God_ , Cyril!" and that hand in his hair yanks him back instead of pulling him in. He winces and shakes her off, but hey, at least she didn’t call him Cassius this time. He goes to straighten his glasses and she pushes him into her desk chair and straddles him, smirking at his little ‘oof’. Right, because anything that means she isn’t on top is unacceptable. Domineering harpy.

He wouldn't even mind being pushed around like this, if she was less of an ironclad bitch about it. Lana can be domineering, but she doesn't try to outright humiliate him. Most of the time, at least. And even he can admit that sometimes he deserves it. But not all the time, not constantly, the way Malory heaps abuse on him and everyone else, like casual cruelty is the only way she knows how to communicate. She digs her manicured nails into his chest and stares him down as she engulfs him, and he feels like a mouse being hypnotized by a blue-eyed cobra and swallowed whole, the all-too-familiar sinking sensation of being overpowered overruling the pleasant physicality of another body moving with his.

"If I intended to do all the work I’d have pulled Miss Gillette in here," Malory gripes, shifting her hips. 

"A little too arthritic?" he shoots back, anticipating the slap this time and rocking with it before he takes her hips in his hands and thrusts up into her. The kicker is, she's not bad looking for her age, it's just her miserable personality that makes this intolerable, and she revels in spreading the misery around. If he'd stumbled over her image while looking for granny porn (which, okay, he doesn't look at _often_ ) she'd probably really do it for him. He's just unfortunate enough to know her personally. 

"Try not to disappoint me too badly," she says, and he knows it's dumb before he does it but he just really needs her to stop talking and the only practical way of shutting her up (without potentially losing a finger) is kissing her, which is actually just stupid enough to work, because it's the last thing she expects from him. He retains control of the kiss for almost three whole seconds before she snarls and bites his lower lip hard, but she doesn't move away, and he'd rather be bitten than chewed out, totally capable of screwing her now that he can close his eyes and focus on sensation instead of stressing out about her cutting him down. 

Surprisingly enough, once they start moving in tandem it's actually really fantastic. Malory's got decades of seduction experience etched into her birdlike bones, and Cyril's not just good at this but is also actively trying to make it good enough that Malory can't bitch about his performance later. Every gasp he wrings out of her feels like a tiny triumph, even her hand gripping his hair tight enough to pull a few strands out is a little victory, and when he lets go of one hip to thumb at her clit and she comes with a frankly earsplitting shriek, he actually feels proud of himself for the three or four breaths before she dismounts and reaches for her half-finished drink on the desk. He blinks his eyes open, confused, and finds her looking impossibly unruffled and typically supercilious.

"Adequate," she pronounces, leans down to retrieve her panties, and walks around the desk, throwing his clothes at him before going back to the decanter of bourbon. "That will do."

"You're kidding," he says flatly, and-- god _damn_ her-- she looks positively amused when she turns around with a freshened drink. "I still haven't--"

"What a terrible problem for you," she says, "that has _entirely_ nothing to do with me. How sad. Get out.”

"Malory..." He has too much pride to say _please_ , not that it would do him any good anyways. She stares at him coldly, and Cyril frowns down at his obscenely hard cock and sighs heavily before he starts pulling his clothes on. 

He doesn't know why he's surprised. This is classic Malory. Once she gets hers, that's all she cares about, in this just like in everything else. She doesn't even give him a chance to button his pants before she's herding him out the door and closing it behind him. The last he sees of her is that characteristic smirk, kicking him when he's down without a single spoken word.

Lana's standing outside the office, and Cyril looks down, embarrassed, while she reaches up to straighten his glasses. "C'mere, nerd," she says fondly, and takes him by the hand.


End file.
